


The Power of Words

by leagueofloneliness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 04:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12498344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leagueofloneliness/pseuds/leagueofloneliness
Summary: Hermione's perspective and emotions in Book 2: Chamber of Secrets after Malfoy's harsh words to her.





	The Power of Words

 

_“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.”_

            Hermione knew Draco was trying to hurt her, but knowing his intentions didn’t make her feelings diminish. She had read about the word since the incident, of course, but reading about it and understanding the word in an attempt to desensitize herself was entirely different than facing it in the moment. Afterward, everyone had jumped into action to defend her, and Hermione appreciated that she had such loyal friends, but now that she knew about the word, she couldn’t stop thinking it over and over in her mind.

 

            Curled up on the maroon and gold duvet sprawled over her bed, Hermione had begun to feel she would never stop thinking about the word. _Mudblood_. She felt for the pulse at her neck, a small reminder that her blood was indeed liquid, just as anyone else, and Draco’s words couldn’t change that. Really, only Slytherin students seemed to care about blood, and they were nowhere near representative of the students at Hogwarts. Still, Hermione wished people didn’t care so much about lineage at her school.

 

            Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted when Parvati Patil entered the bedroom, and she quickly sat up, wiping away the dried tears left on her cheeks.

 

            “Did you go down for dinner? I just came back, but I could go to the Great Hall with you if you’d like?” Parvati asked.

 

            “Thanks, no, I’m fine. I ate too much at lunch, so I’m alright.” Hermione replied, turning away from the other girl so she wouldn’t have to answer any questions, such as if she’d been crying.

 

            “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind, I’m caught up on my studies, so I have time. We could sit and chat in the common room afterwards.” Parvati said.

 

            “Thank you, but I’m quite sure. I think Lavender might be downstairs, I’m positive she’d love to talk with you.”

 

            Parvati simply shrugged and left the room, leaving Hermione to lay back down on her bed. On her night-stand still was the book _Muggles Turned Magic_ , a book she had checked out from the library. The text had example after example of wizards and witches who had been born to Muggle parents and found great success later in life, but the uplifting effect of their accomplishments was diminished due to the preface of the book describing the general sentiment the wizarding community had towards Muggle-born magic users, which was far from good. Hermione didn’t want to look at the book any longer.

 

            Deciding she had had enough of wallowing, Hermione thought it might do her some good to return the book to the library. Having the leather-bound book out of her sight would hopefully distance the word from her mind, so she pulled on her slippers, swept down the stairs, and walked quickly past the Gryffindor common room before anyone could stop her for a chat.

 

            Returning _Muggles Turned Magic_ to the library took hardly any time at all, but Hermione didn’t really want to go back to her room quite yet. So, she aimlessly walked up and down the aisles in the library, stepping around stacks of books left on the floor from students studying for homework and exams. Being around the looming stacks of books in the library filled Hermione much needed serenity. She knew who she was in a library, and it was very rare that a book would call her mean names, though sometimes it did happen if you didn’t tickle the spine quite right. Still, in the library, Hermione was almost unrivaled. If ever there was a doubt Hermione was meant to be at Hogwarts, one glance at her in the library would dispel those doubts in an instant. As much as Draco looked down on her, she knew if it really came down to it, Hermione could out-spell him in an instant.

 

            Feeling as though the common room would likely be cleared out by now, Hermione decided she could go back without running into anyone who would want to stop her from slinking up to her room uninterrupted. Of course, nothing was ever as simple as intended at Hogwarts, and as Hermione rounded a corner on the trek back to the Gryffindor common room, she ran right into Ron who was hurrying as well, presumably to the same place.

 

            “Oof – Hermione?” Ron said, narrowly avoiding a trip to the ground.

 

            “Ron, hi, I didn’t see you there. I’m sorry, I’m just going back to the common room now,” Hermione replied, hoping her tone conveyed she would rather be alone.

 

            “Oh, right, yeah, me too. I just finished polishing the trophies with Filch. Bloody geezer made me polish until I thought my arms would fall off.”

 

            Hermione started walking again towards the common room, but this time Ron was right at her side. She did her best to make as little eye contact as possible as she was reluctant to talk, but Ron didn’t seem to notice.

 

            “I swear, that Filch has it out for us students. I don’t know why we’ve got magic if I’m just going to have to polish things by hand.”

 

            Hermione simply nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself about how a punishment wasn’t meant to be easy, and maybe he ought not to have stolen a car.

            “Hermione, is everything alright?” Ron asked.

 

            Hermione knew she and Ron were friends, but still it was quite a shock to hear him express concern for her. She had hardly had friends before Hogwarts, and even at Hogwarts, most people didn’t talk to her because they thought she was rather snobbish. She couldn’t help that she kept up with her school work and had a voracious appetite for knowledge. She never meant to make people feel lesser than her for not knowing something, and it upset her greatly when her enthusiasm for knowledge was construed as gloating.

 

            “Hermione,” Ron said softly. “You’re crying.”

 

            Jerking her hand up to her cheek, Hermione felt wetness under her eyes and she ducked her head ashamedly. “It’s nothing, I’m fine. Really, Ron, nothing is wrong. Let’s just go back to the common room and go to bed.”

 

            Ron didn’t say a word and grabbed Hermione’s hand, leading them both down the corridor and into the lounge on the third floor of the castle. By the time they reached the room, Hermione had all but stopped crying. Ron led her to a couch in front of a large fireplace and sat the two of them down.

 

“Would you?” Ron gestured at the fireplace.

 

“What? Oh, yes.” Hermione replied, and with a wave of her wand, she lit a small, crackling fire on the logs stacked in the firebox. She tucked her wand back into her robes and looked at Ron, who was looking down at the ground near his feet, a troubled look on his face. For once, Hermione didn’t know what to say. It was as if she had forgotten she had a test and had never even been given material to study.

 

“You know, I didn’t get to say it earlier: I’m sorry Malfoy called you that. He’s a wanker, isn’t he? Sorry, let’s not think about him right now. I didn’t ask you how you felt afterwards, I just rushed in, didn’t I? Hermione, you aren’t what he said, you know that? You’re the best witch I’ve ever known, and your parents are bloody proud of you. Hell, my parents are bloody proud of you.” Ron said.

 

“I didn’t think I would be this upset,” Hermione started. “I didn’t really know there was a word for it, for what I am. I thought it was normal to be like me.”

 

“It _is_ normal, Hermione. Plenty of witches and wizards are Muggle-born.”

 

“Then why does it matter if I’m a mudblood? Why would he say that?” Hermione asked.

 

“But you aren’t a mudblood. And Malfoy wanted to hurt you because you were speaking the truth, it’s as simple as that. He’s his father’s child, that’s for sure. He likes hurting people. Nasty habit, isn’t it?” Ron smiled, but the expression dropped quickly from his face. Hermione didn’t mind. She was having a hard time smiling too.

 

Ron had moved to put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder, and again she found herself crying. The comfort he was providing was almost enough to make Hermione forget the horrible events of the day, and she felt herself shift to lean onto Ron’s shoulder. He shifted slightly, but didn’t pull away, so Hermione stayed. Ron’s arm lifted to encompass her shoulders, and they sat staring at the fire while Hermione sobbed quietly. Her sniffles and the crackling fireplace were the only sounds audible in the room, and she hoped she didn’t sound too snotty. As much as she tried to hide it, she cared what Ron thought of her.

 

As her tears trickled to a stop once more, Hermione realized she had no idea how late it was anymore. They might even be outside the common room past curfew. Suddenly Hermione sat up, which startled Ron a bit, though he tried to restrain himself from jumping. It did not work.

 

“Ron, we need to go back now. We don’t want to get in any more trouble. You already had detention today.” Hermione said.

 

“Right, right. Wouldn’t want to be killed. Or worse, expelled.” Ron said, nudging Hermione with his elbow softly.

 

Hermione flushed brightly and rolled her eyes at him. She paused a moment, then turned to face Ron. Without looking him in the eyes first, Hermione flung her arms around his neck and hugged Ron. She felt him tense at first, but Ron soon returned the gesture, patting Hermione on the back comfortingly. Ron smelled strongly of silver polish, but she didn’t mind. After a moment, they pulled apart and Hermione rushed out of the room, not wanting to confront her embarrassment. She heard Ron following behind her, but she marched forward with her arms swinging at her sides ferociously, and did not look back at him.

 

When they arrived at the Gryffindor common room, there was no one left sitting by the fire. Hermione spoke a soft goodnight to Ron and hurried up the stairs to her dormitory. Ron took his time and meandered up the stairs to his room. When he opened the door, Harry was still awake.

 

“You’re back late.” Harry commented.

 

“Oh, you know. Filch was relentless.” Ron muttered. “And I had something important to do.”

 

“Sorry, what?” Harry asked.

  
            “Sorry, I’m knackered. I just said Filch was relentless.”

 

“Oh, right. Lockhart wasn’t much better, I assure you.” Harry replied.

 

“My muscles have all seized up,” Ron groaned at Harry, then sat on his bed. “Fourteen times he made me buff that Quidditch Cup before he was satisfied.” Ron and Harry talked briefly before deciding what the two of them needed was a good night’s rest.

 

            Hermione had the luxury of entering a room of sleeping occupants, so she had no one to question why she was returning so late after curfew. She quickly changed into her pajamas and tucked herself into bed. As she tried to quiet her mind, she found herself fretting over the word. However, this time as she lay waiting for sleep to take her, she thought of what Ron said to her. The kind words he had spoken to her far outnumbered the one word from Draco, and Hermione never wanted to forget them.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my Harry Potter as Literature class, so any constructive feedback would be appreciated!


End file.
